Disappearing Act
by deangirl1
Summary: It's going to end sad or bloody. A tag to 4.12.


**Dedication:** This is dedicated to the memory of Kim Manners. The world has lost a great creative talent and is emptier for it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I humbly thank Eric Kripke for the raw material which I have borrowed here.

**A/N:** So yeah. Another tag to 4.12 – spoilers up to and including that episode. This is dark. Dean and I are in the same place at the moment, so I just couldn't let this go…

* * *

"I'm going to take a walk."

Sam's words cut Dean as cleanly as anything he'd experienced in the pit. But he just smiled tightly and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Sure," he managed to choke out, hating himself just a little more for letting his brother walk out, walk away from him.

When he could breathe again enough to chase away the dark spots on the edge of his vision, Dean glanced around the bar. He found just what he wanted. An empty booth in a corner where he could get quietly wasted. Maybe he'd be able to get drunk enough that he wouldn't dream.

He'd only just slid into the welcoming cubby hole when the waitress/bartender sidled up to his table.

"Can I get you something, or did you want to wait for your friend to come back?" She smiled.

"He's not coming back, but I'll take a beer – whatever's on tap that you'd recommend – and three shots of Jack – to start…"

Dean had to give her credit, she barely let the smile slip. She knew her job well enough to recognize a customer who meant business. Who was in a bar for a reason. She returned quickly with his drinks and got the tip they'd both known she would.

Dean smiled tightly. He wasn't an idiot– regardless of what most people seemed to think.

He knew where Sam was. He had at least a partial idea of what his brother was doing. Well. He knew who he was doing it with. Dean didn't want to dwell too much on what all "it" entailed.

He downed two of the shots before he gave the beer any thought.

Yeah. His brother doing the nasty with a demon. TMI no matter who was drawing the pictures. And that was probably the least disturbing thing his brother was doing with her.

Dean downed half the beer. Played with one of the empty shot glasses. Threw back the third shot. Looked to the bar. Smiled when he caught the bartender's eye.

She raised an eyebrow but nodded when he held up three more fingers. She didn't hurry quite so fast this time.

This case had been a bit too close to home. Real magic. Was that what Sam was doing? Or was it just another part of who his brother was.

Charlie had been trying to help Jay. Jay had been ready to give up, and Dean knew what that felt like. Dean knew that in the end, he and Sam had done nothing to help Jay. Sure they'd saved his life – or had they? Had they saved his soul? By forcing him to kill his friend? Or had they left him in the same pit of despair he'd been in before they came, only now he was alone in that pit.

Dean understood that Sam needed to do something. Needed to find a way to keep the darkness at bay. To keep the loneliness at bay. Dean couldn't blame his brother. He didn't blame his brother. He didn't want to. Ruby had been there for Sam when Dean wasn't. Just one more time Dean had failed his brother. He couldn't blame Sam for preferring to hunt with Ruby now. Dean had repeatedly let Sam down since he'd gotten out of the pit. He didn't blame Sam when he knew himself that he was doing a shit job of watching his brother's back. He was doing a shit job at pretty much everything.

"Thanks," he said as the bartender set the shots down and collected the first three empty shot glasses. "I'll take another beer when you get a chance." Dean smiled, flirting out of habit, but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't want anything from this girl but the anaesthetic effect of the alcohol she was bringing him. Another time… another _life_time… he would definitely have been interested. She reminded him a bit of Cassie. Except she seemed kinder somehow.

"Can I get you a menu?"

Dean swallowed convulsively at the very thought of food.

"No. Thanks anyway."

Dean finished the first beer. Chased it with another shot. Warmth filled his belly. It was balanced by the sour feeling which seemed to reside permanently in his stomach now. The second beer appeared.

No. Dean couldn't blame Sam. He didn't have the right to criticize his brother. He didn't have the right to criticize anyone. Not after what he'd done. Nothing Sam had done could ever come remotely close to the evil that Dean had perpetrated. Maybe the angels didn't like it, maybe it was wrong, but Sam had only been doing it for four months. Sam's intentions were pure, even if the method was a little questionable. Maybe the angels hadn't figured that out yet. Dean thought their sense of right and wrong was pretty questionable. Anna said that they knew what he'd been doing. And still they'd pulled him out. Well, Cas had. Uriel certainly had no use for either of the Winchester brothers. Maybe Cas had gotten his orders wrong.

Dean had been a monster for ten years. Sam was trying to help people. To end the war. To end the war so that he could stop. Ultimately, Sam just wanted it to be over. He was only doing the best he could to help everyone.

Dean had just hurt people. For no reason other than the pleasure of it. Well. At least for the pleasure of not being in pain. And when he'd tried to stop, they'd started back in on him. Having given in once, it was so easy to give in again and again and again. He never seemed to be able to hold out for long. It felt so good not to be in pain.

Dean wished he'd at least been strong enough to keep his mouth shut. He'd thought…. He didn't know what he'd thought. He'd been weak. He was weak. He was glad Dad was dead. He hoped that wherever their parents were, they couldn't see him. They didn't know what he'd done. What he was.

His face burned with shame, with a heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Dean's thoughts strayed to the shocked look and stunned silence from his brother after his last bout of verbal diarrhoea. The disappointment that Dean had seen. He'd finally managed to shock his brother, push him away, and completely lose his brother's respect. Dean saw his brother's belief in him drain from his face.

Dean had actually relished the pain it caused because he knew he deserved it. He deserved to be punished. He didn't understand why anyone wouldn't revile him. Why God gave a crap about him. Deep down, he knew there had been some mistake somewhere.

Dean knew that Sam still loved him. He knew the big sap couldn't help himself. But somehow that made it worse. Dean knew they were at the edge of a slope. First a loss of respect. Then pity. Then contempt. Then…. Yep. Dean knew the end. Sad. Alone. Bloody. And Dean knew in his heart that he deserved every one of those. It was the only future Dean had ever contemplated. Difference now was that he'd come to terms with it. Accepted it. Knew he'd earned it.

Dean wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink, but he knew that he had to take a leak. His glasses were empty and filling the better part of the table now, so it seemed like a good time to take a break. He had no idea how long it had been since Sam had disappeared. He pushed himself to his feet and was mildly surprised at the way the room tilted and spun.

Luckily, the bathroom was handy. Dean managed to get there and back to his table. Given the effort it was taking, Dean decided he'd better make an attempt to get back to the hotel. There wasn't anybody coming to collect him after all. He had to rely on his own steam to get back.

"Night. Thanks," he smiled lopsidedly at the bartender on the way out.

She smiled and raised her hand. Dean could see the relief clearly written on her face. She'd figured him for a problem. Either a sloppy drunk, trying to stay past closing or passed out in the can, or maybe a mean drunk who'd start a fight.

He couldn't blame her for thinking the worst of him. God knew, he did.

The air outside the bar was cool, but Dean had had enough to drink that it didn't do much to sober him up for which he was grateful.

They'd walked to the bar as the hotel was close. Dean was soon back at their room.

Dean stood outside looking at the dark window. He wasn't psychic like Sam, but he knew for certain that Sam wasn't there. Probably wasn't coming back. At least not any time soon. Sam had business to attend to after all.

Dean sighed and turned to the Impala, gleaming darkly in the shadows of the parking lot. Slipping the key in the lock, Dean slipped behind the steering wheel. Leaning over, he grasped the bottle he'd stashed under the seat and unscrewed the top, savoured the burn down his throat. Dean was drinking enough that he mostly had to buy the cheap stuff. He was beginning to see why Rufus had stuck with only the premium Scotch. In the end, it probably did the same amount of damage, but it was easier going down and sat a bit easier too.

He figured there was just enough left in the bottle to help him find that dreamless sleep that was so damned elusive. Just enough to make the pain go away for an hour or two. It wasn't long enough. Not by half.

Dean snorted and chuckled mirthlessly. The irony of how much greater the pain was out of hell than in it wasn't lost on him. The alcohol couldn't touch it. Not really.

And it did nothing to fill the hole inside him. A hole that was getting bigger instead of smaller. He was losing the things that filled him up. He couldn't save enough people to fill the hole. He was most afraid that he couldn't even save Sam. And Sam was disappearing, leaving the hole bigger and more ragged than ever.

The hole was getting so big, in fact, that Dean had begun to worry that he'd disappear inside of it himself. That he wouldn't be able to find even himself… and he was pretty sure that nobody else was coming in to get him.

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**A/N:** I'm expecting that most readers will either not agree with my take on Dean's state of mind or not like what I've done here… This is my own personal demon… just had to get it out there…


End file.
